


Stay

by donotaskforlove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 05:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donotaskforlove/pseuds/donotaskforlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry might have feelings for Zayn. It might get embarrassing at some point, but at least he gets cuddles out of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

Harry finds Zayn spread out in his bunk, star-fished, and with his big, red Beats headphones firmly in place. Harry pokes him until Zayn huffs and without opening his eyes, says, “Yeah?” The fingers of his right hand twitch like he's about to push Harry's face out of his space and close the bunk's privacy curtains on him. Zayn is in one of the top bunks, for now.

It shouldn't be this much trouble trying to get someone to cuddle with him for five minutes. Niall was playing a video game with a lot of explosions with the others lads of their opening act. Louis and Liam had gone out doing whatever it is they did whenever they'd get stoppages during the long drive.

Harry presses a hopeful kiss to Zayn's shoulder. Zayn is wearing one of Niall's nipple-exposing tanks. Zayn's mouth twitches upwards, still trying to hold onto his mood. Harry starts peppering his shoulder with as many kisses as he can, and then Zayn is dropping the headphones down onto his chest and flicking his eyes open to give Harry an amused grin. “You are simultaneously the bravest and dumbest person on earth, mate. What do you want?”

“All I want is your love,” Harry says, pouting a little, and folding his arms on the bed and leaning his head atop his hands. One of Zayn's eyebrows does that impressive thing where it goes up all on its own, and he turns to his side and faces Harry, one hand under his cheek. His headphones almost smack Harry in the forehead. Harry frowns and makes sure to put it down on the bottom bunk before straightening up to ask, “Can I nap with you?”

“Ugh, you serious?” Zayn asks, tapping his fingers against Harry's hand. “I napped half an hour ago, bro. I want to go out and stretch my legs for a bit.”

Like, honestly. This is hard work. Harry frowns and pushes himself away from the bunk, arms falling to his sides. It's just that he misses his family. He's been feeling sick to his stomach for the past few hours. He'll just call his mum again. There's nothing wrong with missing home. “Never mind, I'll just --”

Zayn stops Harry's retreat with an arm darting out and pulling Harry back in. “Stay. Stay, I was just playing around,” Zayn says, earnestly. Harry knows he wasn't, but Zayn is already pushing himself back into the bunk and pulling Harry up and in. Harry thinks about protesting for a second, but doesn't.

It is an incredibly tight fit, but sometimes Harry likes how close they have to be. It makes him feel safe. He lets all the air go out of his lungs with a loud whoosh and burrows into Zayn, Zayn's arms automatically coming around him. One of his hands playing the piano down Harry's spine and the other softly carding through Harry's hair. Their foreheads bump and Harry smiles and pushes his nose to Zayn's jaw. Zayn is always so warm.

“Like, are you okay? You want to talk?” Zayn asks, quietly, his hands soothing and petting. Sometimes Harry wishes that all the other lads are always too busy doing their own things so that he has to go to Zayn. It makes him greedy and selfish in some way that he can't name.

Harry hugs Zayn as best as he can, and says, “Nah. I'm good.” He can feel Zayn nod and then Harry finally falls asleep, with an ankle crossed with Zayn's, and a palm pressed to Zayn's chest; mapping out every beat, every echo of his heart, until he hears no more.

+

Harry thinks about disconnecting the call, but that would be rude. He eyes his mobile suspiciously, daring it to betray him.

“Is Zayn there? Is he there now?” Gemma asks, her voice sounding funny over speakerphone. Harry should have never called Gemma, pissed out of his mind last night, to tell her that she was wrong. That his cousins were all terribly wrong. Harry's cousin, Suzy, thought that Zayn and Louis would make the hottest fake couple in the band. When Harry had heard Gemma's voicemail detailing her conversation with Suzy with great enthusiasm (she was laughing in a way during the entire thing that meant that she was also slightly tipsy), Harry had been just drunk enough to call her back and leave a voicemail of his own (several hours later), vehemently disagreeing. A voicemail that Gemma is evidently going to play back to him. But only if Zayn is there. Harry can't really remember much at all.

“This better not be humiliating,” Harry warns her, just as Zayn comes barreling into him from the back. Harry almost drops his mobile.

“Hi Harry! Hi Gemma!” Zayn shouts, and just great. Zayn is in one of his hyper moods. It means he's more shoutier than usual, more affectionate, and more prone to bursting into random bits of song at any given point. He's already impressively done _No Woman No Cry_ in Niall's room, while they were having breakfast.

Harry lets Zayn throw an arm around his shoulder and he has just enough time to say, as threateningly as he can, “Careful, Gem,” when Gemma launches into her story to Zayn. She's on a landline at one of her mate's, cooking while she works. Harry doesn't know why this is important. Zayn asks if she's making bolognese, because that's his favorite. “Aw, no, love,” Gemma tuts, “but maybe when you lot get back, I'll cook up a proper feast at my place and invite you all over.”

Zayn's eyes crinkle as he smiles, his arm tightening around Harry's neck. “You're so sweet, babe,” Zayn says, genuinely honest, and Harry can almost feel Gemma blushing through the connection. She's a notorious blusher. “Alright, Alright,” Harry says, biting down on his lip, “come on. Out with it. Play it, you horrible person, you.” Gemma laughs, and Zayn laughs as well. Harry rolls his eyes.

A second later, Harry braces himself when his slightly slurred, slow speech fills the air, sounding highly indignant and staticky. “This is going to be _so_ bad,” Zayn says in uncontainable excitement (practically buzzing out of his boots), his eyes bright, still smiling with way too many teeth.

_Hiiiiiiiiiii, Geemmaaa. I want you to know that you are soooo bloody wrong. You and Suzy are just, like, you – it's mental how wrong you are. I'm just being real, here. I'm only being real, so you better not, not... Get any ideas? Um, sooo. Louis is the best, he's like... super amazing, a fit, top lad, great head of hair, but just because I'm your brother. Just 'cause I am, doesn't mean I'm not, eh? I've a good face. Like, memorable. Facts. Oh fuck, I think I hear Paul... Yeah? Soooo. Zayn and I. That's what's it. Only right answer. You let Suzy know. You tell her how wrong she is. And um... send mum my--_

And then there's a beep, signaling that's the end of the call, thankfully. Zayn has been silently laughing by his side the entire time. He is the worst person in the world. Harry is blushing. Harry brusquely says into his mobile, “Goodbye. I hate you. You are being blacklisted forever,” and ends the call. He is sure that Gemma was laughing herself hoarse on the other end. He thinks it might've been a group of people laughing themselves sick. Harry hates her with a burning, fiery passion. Thank god they are alone in the dressing room.

He straightens up his shoulders and combs his fingers through his hair, trying and failing to shrug nonchalantly. He tries squinting at Zayn with accusatory eyes (Zayn is bent at the waist, now gasping and hiccuping in laughter), but instead he huffs out a breath and grins, arms crossed over his chest indulgently. Zayn's happy mood is infectious when he gets like this. It's like he walks around with stars inside his ribcage, and wants everyone to come close to him, to see, to share.

Finally, Zayn slumps against Harry and rubs at his watery eyes. “Mate, mate, you are brilliant,” Zayn says, breathlessly. Harry snorts. “It wasn't that funny. You've said much, much worse, trust me.”

Zayn rolls his eyes at Harry's pout and pulls him in for a hug. “Zarry is your OTP, I always knew it. No shame in having great taste,” Zayn says teasingly, and Harry pinches his bum.

Louis opens the door with an apple in his hand and then wordlessly joins in on the hug.

It could have been worse.

+

“What my problem is, is this,” Liam says, tapping his fork against his plate to make a point. Or something. “Yes?” Louis asks, cocking his eyebrow, and Liam holds up a finger dramatically. Niall sips on his fizzy drink extra loudly. “Why does Harry never, ever needle Zayn?”

“What? Are you for real?” Zayn asks immediately, his eyes popping up to pin Liam down with a look, and dropping his mobile down on the restaurant table. Liam nods and says, “Yes, I am for real. It's a good question.” Then he pops a piece of steak into his mouth.

Louis frowns as he dips his breadstick into some olive oil. “I have seen it happen,” he says, just as Niall says, “But it's like catching a look at shooting star. It's pretty rare, innit.”

Harry frowns down at his grilled chicken and rice extra intensely, as he says, “You're wrong.” He glances up and smiles sort of helplessly when Louis flicks him on the wrist. “He's wrong,” Harry tells Louis, again, with more determination.

Liam's mouth purses and he leans into the table a little, as though still deciding. “Like, I don't think I am. You and Niall wrestle sometimes when you're cross, you tend to rile me up most days for no good reason, and you even get into little fights with Louis. But not with Zayn. Not really,” he says, sort of curiously. Harry and Zayn accidentally look at each other at the same time, with twin expressions of confusion, and get caught. Zayn tries smiling at him, but it's only for a second. When he opens his mouth, Harry suddenly feels the bottom of his stomach drop out. It's terror, but for no reason. The nails of his hand bite into his palm.

“We did that in the beginning, like, when we just met,” Zayn says normally, “but then it would always escalate into proper fights.” Harry quickly says,“Yeah,” his voice low.

“I'd call him a twat and he'd call me a wanker and we'd both remain angry at each other if it weren't for you guys.” Zayn picks up his mobile and swipes the lock on the screen. “It would get pretty bad and be real in a way it wasn't with the rest of you.” He smiles a little at Harry and finishes with, “And then I found out he's actually like a teddy bear of a child, who always wants cuddles and kisses, so we both stopped.”

“And we all know how much Zayn likes cuddles and kisses,” Louis says, just as Niall accidentally tips his fizzy drink down on the table onto his mobile. His shout is met with a few laughs. Mainly from Louis. Niall glares at him as he wraps his mobile with napkins and goes to the loo.

Thankfully that means Liam's knowing, “And loaded sexual tension,” is lost in the ruckus, immediately following what Louis says.

Harry finishes his meal faster than the everybody else, and goes to hang out with the Five Seconds of Summer lads.

Liam isn't doing it on purpose, being mean, but Harry steers clear of him as much as he can for the next two days, until Liam's pathetic puppy dog face gets him to stop. The ridiculous assortment of sweets and Harry's favorite snacks Liam's amassed in the middle of Harry's bed also helps win him over.

It's an impressive pile.

+

Obviously, Zayn wants to talk about it. Harry pretends that he's dying and very near reaching the heavenly light of salvation whenever Zayn corners him.

“I'm not feeling well,” Harry says, over and over again. Amongst other things.

“I think I'm losing my voice. Mustn't talk or else.”

“I'm gonna call home. Yes, I know it's two in the morning there. Honestly.”

“I've developed a migraine. Ow, ouch. So painful. It's a piercing feeling. My skull is going to vomit out my brain in a second.” He gets creative, as it goes on.

“I had some bad sushi last night! My stomach is doing the macarena, like. The toilet needs to be quarantined when I'm through. Might be here for awhile,” Harry calls out from the bathroom, and a minute later Zayn is gone, when the hotel door clicks shut. Harry hates being that person, the one that is constantly trying to put something off and shying away from facing the music, but he can't help it. What is there to talk about, when Harry doesn't really know it himself. Does Zayn really want to hear him say that he's confused? That he's just playing it by the ear? That all he wants to do it be near Zayn and have him tell Harry his odd, funny stories while their hands brush? Not likely, Harry thinks.

But when he opens the door and comes out, his shoulders kind of slumped and mouth downturned, he nearly flies out of his skin when he's greeted to the sight of Zayn sat in the armchair by the window, flicking through a magazine.

“God, what do you want,” Harry whines, and then crashes down to his bed inelegantly.

Zayn throws a crisp bag at his head. He doesn't get up. “I want you to be honest with me. What's bothering you? Is it what Liam said?”

Harry puts a pillow over his head and says, his voice muffled, “No.” The bed then dips and the pillow gets lifted off his head. He scowls up at Zayn and his perfectly composed, nonjudgemental face. “Get out. What I have is contagious. Don't make me sneeze on you,” Harry warns, pretending to breathe in shakily, but Zayn just leans down, his arms and thighs bracketing Harry, to say, “I thought you said you had some bad sushi last night. Sushi that you didn't, in fact, eat, because you were too busy gorging yourself on some spectacular deep dish pizza. Niall told me. He was orgasmic with the details this morning.” His self-satisfied smile grows extra wide and shiny. It's hard to hate a face like that for any period of time. Simply draining.

It's also hard to be angry at someone that has a pen tattoo on his left arm depicting a massive cock spurting huge globs of come (it looks like a canon, more like), with an arrow pointing to it near Zayn's wrist and Louis' name on top of the arrow. There is even a smiley face. And a copyright symbol.

“Fine,” Harry says, giving in, and with it, putting his hands on Zayn's thighs, since it doesn't seem as though he's going to be moving any time soon. Zayn's eyebrow quirks up in response and he fully settles on Harry's thighs, his arms crossing over his chest. “Good. Out with it, Styles.”

Harry bites his bottom lip and looks at the spread of his hands, over Zayn's thighs. He drums his fingers a couple of times, then sighs loudly. He doesn't look up, even though it means he's looking at Zayn's quirky Einstein t-shirt. Or his crotch. Einstein is sticking his tongue out at Harry. It's very appropriate.

“I'm just confused and handling it the best way that I know. I like hanging out with you,” Harry says softly, Zayn's thighs tensing up under his hands, and something in Harry also tenses up, in alarm and in worry, but, “because it's different. I like being near you.” Basically, he says exactly what he was rehearsing to say in the bathroom. Brilliant work.

Zayn's hands come into vision when he drops them down onto Harry's and squeezes his hands, his wrists. When Harry dares to look up, Zayn is smiling down at him, kind of shyly and kind of like his mind is blown. Harry gets the feeling.

“Harry Styles,” Zayn says, his voice sort of wondrous and light, his fingers still wrapped around Harry's wrists, “not so smooth, not so dapper. Where are you moves, man.” Zayn's smile kind of morphs into something more beautiful, and Harry lets him tease, as he tips Zayn down on top of him by his silly shirt.

Just before they kiss, Harry says, “You are intensely annoying, but I want to hold your hand.”

Zayn says, his voice soft, “Oh, oh, right, sure,” and just as their lips touch, “but I hope you want to hold other things as well, besides my hand.”

They both kind of mess up the first kiss because they are smiling idiots and bumping noses, but the second one is better. The third one leaves Harry stupefied and like he's forgotten his own name, but Zayn's lips are warm and wet on the column of his throat, so it's not really necessary anyway.

He flings Zayn's Einstein shirt across the room when they get to the really good parts (all of Harry's favorite parts involve zero clothes on), with some strange satisfaction.

 

END

 

**Author's Note:**

> Argh, had a bad day yesterday, and this was my own remedy. Hope you guys liked it? x.


End file.
